Bloodhound
by Gene Akizuki
Summary: Roberta returns to her hometown in hopes of finding her missing offspring and starting a quiet life. Instead, she will be drawn into violence and injustice. It's time for the return of the Bloodhound of Florencia to deliver vengeance for the weak and oppressed. Her enemies will soon find out that justice has a name: Roberta.
1. Chapter 1

Bloodhound

**Based on Black Lagoon created by Rei Hiroe**

**All characters here are fictional unless specified**

**Roberta will be the only one to appear here**

1

Colombia

Sister Rosalita walked the dusty, unpaved roads heading towards the town of Santa Monica, deep in the Andes. It was summer, the weather is punishingly hot, but Rosalita didn't mind. All that matters is for her to get to Santa Monica, a small town near the foot of the majestic Dońa Juana volcano that dominates the landscape. Farmlands acres wide littered the landscape, with the occasional farmer house dotting in the green fields.

Despite her flowing nun dress, Sister Rosalita has a beauty that cannot be disguised. Tall and shapely, she is undeniably strong as she is carrying a heavy-looking duffel bag with minimum effort. Her beautiful but sad-looking face is the only one showing on her veil, her eyes covered with large, metal-framed circular spectacles. She scanned the horizon as she walked slowly towards her destination.

She remembered this place all too well. Many years ago she was walking in this same unpaved road. Virtually nothing has change. Rosalita could still remember all the trees lining the road, although she could also see modernization taking place. Wooden farm houses are now being replaced by concrete and stone. Electricity and internet is now the norm even on this sleepy farming community. Rosalita was glad of the changes, but she misses her childhood when life was still simple.

Things have greatly changed. She is now older, and despite of her attire, Rosalita is not a woman of the church. It's her only way to move relatively free in the country where she is in the list of most wanted criminals. Rosalita is her real name, but she is known as Roberta, the notorious Bloodhound of Florencia.

And Roberta is heading for Santa Monica with one purpose on her mind.

She could now clearly see the welcome sign on the town. Roberta stopped when she heard vehicles behind her. She moved out of the road as a convoy of expensive-looking SUV's flanked by police cars sped past her. Roberta knew this village was mostly populated by poor peasants, black SUV's screamed "corrupt politician".

Roberta tried to suppress her anger. These corrupt politicians, as well as corrupt police officers are the worst of the worst. They drained the government treasury to sustain their lavish lifestyle. They stayed in power through goons, guns and gold. They have extravagant parties on their mansions while peasants are suffering from hunger. They drive expensive cars, escorted by armed bodyguards that would shoot without provocation.

Roberta hated rich men that prey upon the poor and the weak. It was this abuse that led her to the path of violence. For her, corrupt politicians are already guilty of crimes against humanity. They are usually subject for extermination. The Bloodhound of Florencia will make sure of that.

But that was a long time ago. Roberta didn't come here to kill anyone. Not yet, at least.

Sister Rosalita continued walking the path. She heard another vehicle as she walked past the welcome sign. She again moved out of the road as the jeep passed her.

The vehicle stopped. Four burly men dismounted.

Roberta's defense system switched red.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Roberta stepped back as the men came closer. One of them has a mean smile; the others were frowning, looking tough. Roberta decided to play the role of a victim; she did her best to look scared.

"Well, well, well," the leader pronounced as he walked closer. "It's been a while since we saw a nun here in Santa Monica."

"Good morning," Roberta greeted with a worried smile. "I'm looking for the chapel…"

"We can take you to the chapel, sister," another man said. Roberta could see and feel he is not just interested in taking her to the church.

"You're one beautiful nun," the other one said.

The fourth man, a handsome young lad, stepped forward. "Please guys, she is a woman of God. Let's not disrespect her."

The leader snapped at the man. "You chickenshit!"

"I'm just saying…."

"Shut up! We will do whatever we want to whoever we want!"

Roberta smiled. "Are you guys aware of the term "edification"?" she asked.

"What?"

Roberta's right leg suddenly snapped upward, delivering a lightning fast shin strike on the leader's groin. He gasped as the rock-hard muscle and bone honed by years of training and combat crushed his testicles. The man doubled in pain and collapsed in a heap.

"Shit…" the others groan, not sure of what to do. Roberta is already moving. Her right hand flew, fist balled that smacked on the jaw of the man to the left. Knuckles struck nerve and the goon blacked out, falling face first to the ground. Roberta then spun in the air, jumping and hitting the third man with a flawless roundhouse kick. The heel of her boot slammed on the guy's temple, rendering him useless.

Roberta was about to take out the last one but she stopped.

The last goon, the one who is compassionate, is pointing a pistol at him in a shaky grip. "Don't move!" he managed to spurt with all that shaking.

"Edification is the act of moral improvement," Roberta said to the man. "I know you're a good guy, I don't wanna hurt you. Put the gun down."

"I swear I will kill—."

Roberta's hand snapped forward and snatched the .45. To the goon's amazement, she quickly disassembled the pistol and dropped the parts on the ground. "When you point a gun at someone, be sure they can't take it from you," she admonished the youth.

"Sorry…sister…" the man blurted.

"Now why are you with these men?" Roberta asked.

She looked at his eyes and suddenly, something hit like a lightning strike. Roberta swallowed hard as she realized she knew this man. She knew him from her distant past. "Amador?" she asked, wishing it's not him.

"Yes. How did you know my…" Amador's eyes went wide when he looked behind Roberta's spectacles. "No way…Rosalita? You're Rosalita?!"

The goons began to stir. Roberta realized that they're not safe here. "Let's go," she pulled his arm towards the town.

Amador was hesitant. "Rosalita, I don't understand-."

"Don't ask questions! We have to hide!"

Suddenly, Amador pulled her to the east. "I know a place," he said.

Amador didn't resist as memories came back to her. It's the same dirt road, the same hand pulling her to the same house in the fields that she knew all too well. It was like many years ago. Her heart was racing, and Roberta knew it wasn't from the fatigue.

Amador opened the door of the farm house and ushered her inside. He quickly closed the door. "That was close," he remarked, catching his breath.

"Now, could you explain to me why are you with those lowlifes?" asked Roberta as she sat on a stool.

"You haven't change," Amador said, smiling. "It's been like, what, 15 years?"

"Ten," Roberta corrected.

"What happened to you, Rosalita? Are you really a nun now?"

"Of course not, this is just a disguise."

"I see. Well, you haven't change. You're still beautiful."

Roberta blushed.

"I was really surprised that you came back here in Santa Monica," Amador continued, pouring coffee on cups. "You were all over the news during the past ten years. Bloodhound of Florencia, they called you. Wanted for multiple murder, genocide, war crimes…"

"Nothing has change here too since I left," she quickly changed the topic, accepting a cup of coffee.

"Why did you return?" Amador asked. "After ten years. It seems to me you didn't belong here anymore."

"There is something I need to do."

Amador nodded. "I won't ask further."

"What about you, Amador? Why are you with those men?"

"Those are Mayor Delgado's men," the man explained. "He controlled Santa Monica with an iron fist. Believe it or not I'm not working with them. I despised them a lot. They are the cause of suffering here in Santa Monica."

"Then why are you with them?"

"Jefe Enrique sent me to gather information about them and Delgado's illegal activities. The only way I could get info is to join them."

"That's very dangerous, Amador," Roberta commented. "Those men will kill you if they found out."

Amador laughed. "Well I just found out they are not as strong as they seemed. You took out three of them without breaking a sweat."

Roberta stood up. "I wanna see Jefe."

Amador finished his coffee. "I'll take you."

* * *

**Author's note: This should be part of Chapter 1, but I failed to finish it in time. Pardon my lack of skills in writing romantic moments. LOL -gene**


	3. Chapter 3

3

Santa Monica hasn't changed a bit since Roberta left to join the FARC many, many years ago. The houses are roughly the same, built from wood and sheetmetal roofing. Some houses are made from concrete, Roberta could see signs of modernization like power lines and paved roads. But most of the town is still rural. Somehow, as she and Amador walked towards the house of Jefe Enrique, she wishes she could see more changes.

As of now, the biggest change is Amador himself. Her childhood friend is no longer the thin, weakling child that she used to protect and bully at the same time. He is now a few inches taller than the already-tall Roberta. He had broad shoulders, well-built and muscular. The endless of hours in the farm gave him a nice, brown tan. Amador also has a ruggedly handsome features fit for a soap opera matinee idol.

He certainly grew up nicely, Roberta thought.

"What can you say about this place, Sister?" Amador asked, using Roberta's cover to conceal her identity.

"It's the same," Roberta replied quietly.

Amador sighed. "That's the problem. Almost all of our neighborhood towns are now second-class municipalities. But Santa Monica is still the poorest town this side of Colombia."

"What about your government officials? Aren't they doing something to make the lives of people better?'

Amador shook his head bitterly. "They are the reason why we are suffering. At least when the FARC still controls this place, we were left in peace."

Roberta kept her opinions to herself.

Amador pointed on a huge plot on land surrounded by barbed wire fencing. "Look at that. That's used to be farms for a dozen families. Now it's owned by Mayor Delgado. He did all the tricks to get the families evicted. He forced them to sell their lands. When two declined, they were mercilessly killed."

Roberta knew this situation all too well. "Why didn't you report it to the police?"

"The police force is controlled by Delgado. Plus he's got a private army. No one wants to speak out in fear. Only Jefe Enrique stood up but he was ignored."

The two stopped in front of an old Spanish-style adobe house, one of the biggest in Santa Monica. Amador simply opened the gate and let Roberta in. He knocked on the heavy wooden front door.

An old man opened it. He is considerably shorter than the two towers but he has a strong aura of leadership. He was visibly shocked when he saw the nun. "Rosalita! Is that really you?"

"Yes jefe, I have returned," Roberta pronounced. She walked closer and hugged the old man.

"I'm so happy to see you," Jefe said. "It's been ten years. I thought I would I would never see you alive again. So many people wanted you dead."

"I killed them all, Jefe," Roberta replied with a smile.

Jefe clasped his hand. "Wonderful! That's the Rosalita I knew. Come on, let's have some coffee. We had a lot of catching up to do."

The three went to the veranda and drank wonderful Colombian coffee while reminiscing about the past. Jefe had a lot of stories to tell, and Roberta listened patiently.

"My Lord, time has really passed," Jefe commented. "It was just like yesterday I'm chasing you two on the fields, with a stick on my hand. I remembered one time Amador picked sunflowers from my garden to give to you."

Roberta laughed. "And you are angry because you are trying to grow sunflowers bigger than Mr. Fernando's."

"Yes. But I can still remember, Amador said he will marry you someday."

"Hey!" Amador denied. "I didn't say that!"

"Oh yes, you did," Jefe insisted. He turned to Roberta. "You know why Amador is still single? Because he was waiting for you."

"Is that true, Amador?" Roberta teased.

Amador blushed and gulped. "Well…it wasn't like that."

The three laughed.

"Rosalita, tell us your experience as a FARC rebel," Amador asked.

Roberta told limited stories about her life as a rebel and how the Lovelace family changed her life. It was full of bittersweet memories, Jefe and Amador couldn't believe she had endured so much pain and tragedy.

Jefe nodded. "You are here now. You can be assured you can live here in peace."

Roberta looked at Jefe straight in the eyes. "I'm not planning on staying here, Jefe. I just came back for…something."

Jefe nodded. He glanced at Amador. "Son, could you leave us for a few minutes?"

Amador stood up and disappeared.

Roberta made sure Amador is gone when she spoke. "Where is Diego?" she asked.

"He is at school." Jefe sighed. "I knew this day would come. Do you want to tell him the truth?"

"I don't know, Jefe," Roberta admitted. "To tell you the truth, I don't think I'm ready yet."

Jefe stood up at looked at the fields. "I raised Diego like he was my own son since you left him here ten years ago. He grew up to be wonderful, kind, and God-fearing boy. I raised him like what you told me to. And I never told him who his real mother was."

"Thank you for all the things that you have done my son," Roberta said wholeheartedly. "I don't think I can ever repay you."

Jefe shook his head. "I treated Diego like my own son. I love him with all my heart, but you are still his flesh and blood, Rosalita. I won't stop you if you decided to take him away. I knew you would be a good mother to him."

"I am a criminal, Jefe," Roberta confessed. "I don't think I can be a good mother. But I want to be with my son, even for while."

"Then you can stay here. Spend your time with him. And if you are ready, you can tell him the truth."

"I hope that day would come soon, Jefe," Roberta mused.


	4. Chapter 4

4

"Father?"

Roberta looked behind him.

A kid stood there, tall for his age, with jet black hair and handsome, Latino features. He looked at Roberta and smiled. "Good morning, Sister," he politely greeted.

Roberta felt her heart twisting in knots. "I…" she managed to say.

"Diego, this is Sister Rosalita," Jefe introduced. "She is the new nun sent here in Santa Monica."

Diego help up his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sister," he said cheerfully.

Roberta needed all the energy on her body to hold his hand. She looked at his eyes and saw a vision of the past. When the boy smiled, her blood turned to ice.

"Nice to meet you, Diego," Roberta stammered. "You're father was right, you are a very nice boy."

"Thank you, Sister." Diego turned to Jefe. "Father, can I play outside?"

"Yeah but just get back before the sun sets. It's dangerous outside."

"I will, Father." Diego ran off.

Roberta stepped forward. She felt a hand on her shoulder. "Not now, Rosalita," Jefe said tenderly.

Roberta nodded, tears streaming down her eyes.

"I'll show you your room."

* * *

_Ten years ago_

Fifteen year old Rosalita Cisneros stood without expression as the coffins of her family were lowered in the ground. The mourners were all over the small rural cemetery. The Cisneros family, especially its patriarch Juan Carlos, is well-regarded as kind and generous. They used to own the biggest hacienda in Santa Maria, but in contrast to most rich hacienderos, they gave away the lands freely to poor farmers. Juan Carlos Cisneros was known as champion of the poor, he fought for their rights.

And he paid for it with his life and the life of his family.

Many farmers deeply mourned the brutal death of the Cisneros family. They were executed in cold blood in their own house. Only the youngest daughter, Rosalita and a baby boy survived the massacre, miraculously unscathed even thought hundreds of bullets riddled the house and its occupants.

Rosalita hugged her baby son as the coffins were finally set on the bottom of the pits. She showed no emotion. But the mourners could see her eyes burning in anger. It was too much suffering for a fifteen year old mother to bear. As loose soil was being dumped on the graves, she turned around to a man behind him.

"Jefe," she said softly. "I trust you. You are like my second father. You have to do a huge favor for me."

"What is that, Rosalita?"

She passed the baby boy to Jefe's arms. "I want you to take care of Diego. Take him to Santa Monica. Get him as far away from this place as possible."

Jefe took the boy. "Why Rosalita?"

"There is something that I need to do." Rosalita glanced behind.

Three men stood under a mango tree. They're dressed in military fatigues and red berets, but Jefe knew they are not soldiers. They are officers from the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia—Ejército del Pueblo, known as FARC. The largest rebel group in Colombia and possibly the largest Marxist-Leninist guerilla group in the world, FARC is very dangerous and considered as a terrorist group. They also control most of the manufacturing of Colombia's largest export: cocaine. Drug sales allow FARC to recruit and trained thousands of guerillas and equipped them with state-of-the-art weapon systems. Despite their reputation, many poor peasants look up to them as saviors from greedy capitalist that take advantage of their lands.

"You are joining the FARC?" Jefe said in shocked.

"This is the only way to avenge my family," Rosalita said.

"Rosalita…you are still young, there is still a bright future ahead of you."

Rosalita shook her head. "I made up my mind, Jefe."

Jefe knew that once a Cisneros made up his or her mind, there is no changing it. "I see. Then God be with you, Rosalita."

Diego cried on Jefe's arms, as if sensing he will never see his mother again.

Rosalita drew a pistol from her pocket. It was a Colt .45 belonging to her father. She removed the magazine, thumbing the bullets out. The shells fell on the grave, knocking on the wooden coffins with solid sounds. "Rosalita is dead, Jefe. From now on, my name is Roberta."

* * *

_Present time_

Jefe opened the door of a room on the second floor. It was quite spacious, with a large Spanish style bed and wooden cabinets. "This is used to be my daughter Angelica's room, but since she is working in Bogota, you can use this for a while."

Roberta sat on the bed.

Jefe closed and locked the door. "I wanna show you something." He lifted the bed sheets and pulled out a long, wooden chest. He motions Roberta to open it.

Roberta lifted the lid. Inside the case are a collection of weapons. Two Colt Commander .45 caliber pistols lay side by side, a Franchi SPAS-12 police shotgun with a folding stock and a 20-inch machete. Roberta also found a box of .45 ACP ammo but only a few .12 gauge shotgun shells.

"These are all in combat condition," Jefe remarked. "I made sure of it."

Roberta didn't answer. She unsheathed the machete, examining it like a master craftsman. She nodded in satisfaction and resheathed the blade, replacing it on the case. "I didn't come here to kill anyone, Jefe," she said. "I came here for my son."

Jefe didn't say a word, but he looks disappointed. "But if you need these, they are just under your bed."

"Thanks, Jefe," Roberta replied, shutting the case close.


	5. Chapter 5

5

_They came like locusts on the fields. Two hundred strong, armed with automatic rifles and rocket propelled grenades. The villagers didn't stand a chance. In less than an hour, the village was surrounded, dead bodies littered the streets. Armed men looted the houses and stores while most of the population was herded in the small plaza._

_Commandante Raymundo watched with grim approval as his men dragged eight peasants and beat them with the butts of AK-47 rifles. Women and children were crying, howling, begging for mercy as they were kept at bay by more armed men. Raymundo won't show any mercy to them. These villagers will pay the price for cooperating with the military and betraying the FARC._

_"Commandante," a FARC lieutenant named Javier approached the Raymundo. "Sir, these men are not the military collaborators we are looking for. They are just farmers."_

_"They are military sympathizers, Teniente," Raymundo answered. "They shall be executed."_

_"But sir…"_

_"Teniente Roberta!"_

_Roberta stepped forward. The tall, shapely young woman dressed in fatigues saluted. "Sir!"_

_"Execute these men."_

_"Yes sir!" Without a show emotion, Roberta drew her .45 caliber pistol and walked closer to the prisoners. She aimed the gun on the nape of the first man and fired. The villager collapsed forward as the horrified crowd gasped and cried in anguish. Roberta didn't skip a beat; she shoots the next one, and then the next. Bodies fell, blood and brains scattered on the pavement. Roberta executes the seventh prisoner then her gun locked empty._

_She dropped the empty mag to reload…but then stopped. Roberta holstered the pistol._

_"Teniente?" Raymundo asked, puzzled on why Roberta wouldn't shoot the last prisoner._

_The woman drew her machete. She raised it high and brought it down with full force, aiming directly at the neck of the villager…._

* * *

Roberta suddenly woke up, her hand rubbing her temples. It was another nightmare, something that she wish she could just black out but that would be impossible. Nevertheless, her nightmares came less frequently now. It could be a good sign.

She quickly washed her face and dressed up. The house seemed empty; Jefe could be outside tending to his crops. Roberta stepped out of the door into the garden.

She saw Diego sitting on a fallen tree trunk, tinkering with wood and rubber bands.

Roberta walked towards the boy. "Good morning, Diego."

Diego looked up. "Good morning, Sister."

"May I ask what are you doing?"

"My slingshot was broken. I'm trying to fix it."

Roberta sat beside the boy. "Did you make this slingshot?"

"Nah. This was given to me by Hermano Amador. I should ask him to repair this but he went to the field early."

"I can fix it," Roberta offered.

Diego's eyes lit up. "Really, sister?"

Roberta took the slingshot. She examined the Y-shaped wood. There is a tiny crack on the junction. Roberta shook her head. "This is not gonna work."

Roberta learned the skills in making accurate, high-power slingshots back in the FARC. The weapon is useful for hunting small game in the jungle; when used with hardened steel ammo it could crack skulls. She looked up, finding a suitable replacement at a branch of a guava tree. She easily broke the stem, and then uses a Swiss army knife to smoothen the Y-shape branch. Roberta then took the rubber and assembled the slingshot.

"The key is accuracy is the right ammo," Roberta said, searching for a perfect rock on the ground. She found an almost circular and very smooth stone. "Look at that bird," pointing at a small white creature atop a mango tree.

"You're gonna hit that, sister?" asked Diego. "It's a bit far."

"Yes the stone won't reach it if you shoot straight. But…" She loaded the stone on the leather catch and pulled the rubber. Roberta aimed using the stone and her thumb as a sight. "If you shoot a little higher, then the stone would arc and…"

Roberta released the stone. Torque on the rubber turned into kinetic energy and launched the rock in a wide arcing path. They followed the stone as it flew, and then hit the bird like a Hellfire missile fired from an Apache helicopter.

"Bull's-eye!" Diego cheered in delight. "Wow, sister, you're amazing!"

Roberta smiled and gave the slingshot to her son. "Don't use this to hurt anyone, okay?"

"I promise, sister."

"Rosalita!" Amador called from outside the gate. He is driving a tractor. "I mean, Sister Rosalita! Let's go to the market!"

Roberta went out. Amador helped her to mount on the high vehicle. Diego decided to join them and climbed aboard as well. The tractor was slow but this is okay with Roberta as they can share stories on the road.

Amador stopped the tractor in front of the poblacion market. "Buenos dias," Amador greeted the seller of animal feed.

"Buenos dias, Amador," the cheerful merchant replied. "Is that our new nun?"

"Yeah this is Sister Rosalita," Amador introduced. News surely spreads out fast here, Roberta realized. Just last night she and Jefe spoke with the town friar to complete her disguise. Luckily the friar is a FARC sympathizer and cooperated readily.

"Good morning," Roberta greeted with a smile.

"Good morning, Sister," the merchant replied. "You are a very beautiful nun. Makes me wonder on why you chose to be a servant of God."

Roberta shrugged. "Long story."

Suddenly, they all heard the noise of SUV diesel engines. Roberta could feel the tension as large black Ford Expeditions roared on the road. The large vehicles ate most of the narrow street, and they won't slow down for anyone. The people quickly went out of the way.

"That's the mayor's convoy," Amador whispered, his voice couldn't hide the contempt.

An old man is crossing the street, pulling a small cart. The lead SUV braked hard, stopping just inches from hitting the man. As if on cue, the doors flew open and burly bodyguards stepped out. Roberta was surprised when a tall, blond Caucasian woman also stepped out, her hand resting inside her coat as if ready to draw a gun.

"That's Irina, Delgado's chief security," Amador explained. "She is Russian, a former military adviser in Cuba, I heard. She is very dangerous."

Roberta was shocked when one of the bodyguards started slapped the old man. The poor man fell on the road as the other guard kicked him on the back. A sudden burst of anger erupted on Roberta. Her expression darkens and she stepped forward.

"No, Rosalita," Amador said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "They'll kill you."

The guards continued manhandling the old man. Finally they shove him out of the road. Then they board their SUV's and drove away. Other town folks tended to the old man.

"This happens here every day," the merchant sadly remarked. "Those bastards will beat and kill anyone ruthlessly, even without preamble. Someday, a savior will rise and would save our town."

"A savior?" Amador looked at Roberta.

She looked away.


End file.
